Ultimatum
by Sam-Sam-Samedi
Summary: With the possibility of another mistake hanging over him, a mere thirteen carbon copies was nothing. 'An almost . . . blessed amount, actually.' Van-centric. Different take on how Asch received his false name.


**Title:** Ultimatum

_AN:_ Warning: Van behaves creepily towards Asch. D: More so than usual. Also, AU.

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Van was seated behind an oak desk, barren except for loose papers thrown inside a book written by Dr. Jade Balfour-- in it was Luke's own data, along with many other subjects; his eyes shifted to Luke, and he waited in silence for the boy to squirm under his gaze. There was something strangely spurring about the once proclaimed "Light of the Scared Flame"; for the first time, out of thirteen failed replications and thousands of disappointing experiments, he had managed to create a _perfect _isofon. Its predecessors had been disheartening-- all were ugly corpses mangled and bent where limbs should have been, the worst cases born with empty holes instead of eyes. They would writhe and ooze crimson into the neon, still visible bits twitching at sockets where tendons disconnected or flesh disappeared.

Van may have lost hope had Luke not indeed proved to be Lorelei's scion; any normal person would die from exhaustion-- or perhaps the horror of watching their own face sink to the bottom of a tank in a heap of bones, blood, and skin. With the possibility of another mistake hanging over him, a mere thirteen carbon copies was nothing. _'An almost ...__**blessed**__ amount, actually.'_ He thought, darkly amused by the idea. Van had stopped believing in the power of false gods long ago.

Again, he let himself wander back to the book on fomicry; he sighed, low enough that only he heard.

_'It won't do if he keeps trying to kill himself.'_ The other fifty sheets with the word "deceased" stamped across them told him that much. Under the lantern, a bulb flickered and sent bright streaks dancing across shelves of thick texts. Spirals of piping caught the fresh light and glinted; Luke went a deathly pale, the same sickly shade as when he'd first been locked away in Choral Castle.

_'--? . . . That's right.'_ Luke was afraid of this place. He had always been afraid of this place-- thus it had been all the more reasonable to send him here. Fear was far worse than any monster; even if it could not rip flesh, its claws tortured and tore at the mind until sanity was worn down and lost to it-- and he needed Luke to fear him, if he intended to get any cooperation out of him at all.

"Please. . . I don't have anywhere else to go. . ." The young boy managed, determination in his voice cracked and broken. "If I-- I'll die if you don't--!"

Van glanced over the empty wood, the heavy, shadowed outlines of his thickly face flashing, ominous, in the blinking dark, "I cannot allow that Luke. Your loyalty is questionable, and your face is on the replica--" Luke flinched visibly, his eyes revealing and wide in wounded remembrance. "There is no need for you."

He saw him wilt in a poorly hidden disappointment, and Van continued, "However, if you pledge to the Order of Lorelei, I will be able to provide a suitable residence."

Luke's breath lodged in his chest, his body wrecked and bitten, stale blood dotting the white of his top, "Mas—Master Van, Padamiya is—I can't walk that far, please—!"

Van's blankness seemed to stretch and fill the room, his expression empty and shrewd, "I am the commandant. Simply pledge your allegiance to me, Luke."

". . . What?" Luke forced his voice into his throat, response low yet squeaked, a sharp scratch amid the silence. "F—fine, I promise—"

"That's incorrect," Van interjected, hands folded. "You must be proper Luke. Kneel." He watched, inwardly bemused as the child struggled to register the command, knees buckled and feet turned awkwardly, his body tremulous, and his mind refusing to force a reaction. Luke's hands were blood-stained, and held out as he gazed at them, as if they didn't belong to his body, their palms caked with earth; he found his way to the tiled floors, down on all fours, head bowed in respect.

"Please Master Van. . ." he cried to the ground, drained and lifeless. "Take me back, please. . . "

"It will be done," he answered, cool and cutting. "You are no longer Luke. You are Asch, the charred remains of the scared flame."

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_AN:_ The Asch Gaiden was a cop-out to me. I much prefer (super) Dickish!Van, who makes Asch beg to be his subordinate. Review, if possible. It's both a shorter and older piece—I kind of want to continue it, but I'm already writing another hopefully long TotA story. D: I don't want to take on_ too_ many burdens, you know? Anyway, I was re-reading it, and it sounded sort of disturbing. Thus I put it here. :D;;


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